


Wayfarer's Light

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, Superstition, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: The candles were as much a ward against the creatures of the night as they were a guide for lost travelers. In some stories, those lost travelers included the souls of the dead.





	Wayfarer's Light

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 4 of the FFXV Halloween Week, Superstitions/Fae Folk. Also on [my tumblr!](https://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/188660045317/wayfarers-light)

“Lighting the candles, Libs?”

“Someone’s got to,” he said, puffing up in self-defense. “One day, you’ll thank me that I did.”

Libertus could feel Nyx’s skepticism like pins and needles, bristling against the back of his neck. Nyx always did think that Libertus’s commitment to Galahdian tradition bordered on “fanatical.” He never said as much, at least not seriously, but Libertus knew that, even when he was just teasing, Nyx thought he took to even the littlest superstitions a bit too obsessively.

“I don’t think you need to worry this year,” Nyx said, lightly. He gestured out the window. “Not a whole lot of woods for them to hide in.”

“Sure, not _literally_. But Insomnia’s just as much a jungle as Galahd was. And I’m not taking any chances by misinterpreting the tales.”

Nyx shook his head, but didn’t try to stop him. He might not have taken to their hometown’s superstitions quite as reverently as Libertus did, but he knew Nyx had enough self-preservation to, if not believe them outright, at least not shun them entirely. He didn’t regard them with quite the same fastidious devotion as Libertus did, but he knew better than to laugh off the stories. They were told for a reason. Galahdians never said or did anything without purpose.

Logically, the bone-chilling tales of woodland imps stealing children who strayed too far from the marked paths were merely cautionary in their intent. A hundred years ago or so, maybe the roads in Galahd weren’t as clearly defined. Maybe kids got lost in the jungle and expired to the elements before help could find them. Their ancestors didn’t have rangers or regulations, didn’t have many means of coping when tragedy struck their small community. If a child was lost, it was easier to blame it on a terrible, unseen creature from the shadows instead of fate’s cruel hand.

The candles were as much a ward against the creatures as they were a guide for lost travelers. It was said that the winking flames in every window tricked the evil faeries away from sleeping villages. It was said they thought that the flames were the eyes of a guardian spirit, keeping watch for them in the night. The creatures fled beneath the sight of them, while the lost and the weary followed the light like a beacon back home.

In some stories passed down over the years, those lost travelers included the souls of the dead. Libertus was less afraid of blood-thirsty gremlins invading his home in the night than he was of losing the last remnants of those who had departed.

“Y’know your ma is probably doing the same thing back home,” Libertus said, once he’d lit the last candle. He set the glass jar carefully on the windowsill, the quiet yellow flame blinking out over the city in search of evil. “And my gran. And the…”

“Fishmonger, and the butcher, and your favorite garula rancher. I know,” Nyx said, putting up his palms in surrender. “It’s okay Libs. No one’s going to tell you how to celebrate the season.”

He knew that _Nyx_ never would, of course. But ever since they’d moved to Insomnia, Libertus always felt like the Lucians were watching him, judging him, waiting to ridicule him for every silly, backwater superstition he brought with him from home. He was waiting to look out his window from behind his protective candles and see, not the malicious glint of goblins in the alleys, but the scornful stares of city folk passing on the sidewalk. Maybe his makeshift guardian spirit could protect him from that, if nothing else.

“They’ll snuff themselves out before dawn,” Libertus said, adjusting the candles to make sure they were all safely placed for the night. “Not gonna burn the apartment down.”

“I know, Libs.”

“I got scentless ones. They shouldn’t bother the neighbors.”

“I know, Libs.”

Libertus crossed his arms, standing in the center of the apartment to scrutinize his wards. They were cheap, hastily thrown together things, boring white candles he’d bought from the dollar store set in empty pickle jars he’d saved and cleaned out after a few weeks’ worth of lunches. He didn’t like that he couldn’t smell them, missed the rise of frankincense whorls from the wicks, but they would do to appease the spirits, he supposed. He wished that he could hang the last of summer’s lavender in clumps alongside them, or set the jars on wreathes of cinnamon sticks to better elevate his guardian’s “sight.”

But this was the best he could manage on his new salary and on short notice. It would just have to be enough. Nyx steadied a hand on his shoulder, trying to assure him that he was doing right by their old traditions. His grandmother would be proud of him, Nyx said without saying a word.

“Alright,” Libertus sighed. “Supposed to get a restful sleep with these looking out for us, right?”

“Right,” Nyx said, smiling gently. “Let them do their thing.”

They were just a bygone product of his childhood, Libertus thought. They were just there to remind him of home. They weren’t supposed to really serve a function. They weren’t supposed to chase away evil spirits, nor invite kindred ones to his door.

But not an hour after he’d lit the candles, a knock on his door was exactly what he got. He was just about to head to bed – he let Nyx hit the sack first, it usually took him less time to clock out. The knock startled him from a daze, eyes just glazing over as he watched the TV programs slide by. He glanced at the digital clock, the time igniting his brain with suspicion.

It was awfully late to be having a visitor.

He approached the door with trepidation. He wasn’t entirely used to the King’s magic they were allowed as newly minted Kingsglaive, but he felt for the daggers in the ether as best he could. Maybe he should wake Nyx, he thought. Or maybe he was just being foolish and letting the old stories from Galahd fiddle with his imagination. Either way there was a knock at his door. It would be rude to leave any traveler, living or dead, out in the cold.

Libertus held his breath as his hand clasped the knob. His fingers twitched for his weapon, just in case. Then, he cracked open the door. There in the shadows, scowled a pale specter from the past.

“Hey man, it’s freezing out here. Open the door and give a girl a drink, would ya?”

Crowe did not ask twice. She let herself in without an invitation, marching into the apartment and bringing a deathly cold draft of air with her. Libertus thought that he must have dozed off and dreamed this, after all. He spun around and squinted at her, as if he could put her out of focus and prove to himself that she wasn’t really there. But the suitcase she set on the floor with a heavy thump was all the evidence he needed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s late,” Crowe grumbled. “But I was not about to stay in some crappy motel in the middle of a big city I don’t know. I’d rather stay in your crappy apartment if that’s cool.”

It was really her! All the way from Galahd! Once it clicked for Libertus, he broke into a huge smile and barreled over to hug her. She protested of course, because she was Crowe and she refused to admit that she enjoyed even a modicum of affection, but she still hugged him back, insisting that it was because, “Your house is cold.”

“How’d you even find us?” Libertus had the good sense to ask, once he’d recovered from the initial shock. The apartment was still new to him. He hadn’t yet gotten around to sending an address back home.

Crowe smiled, wicked as a woodland imp, and nodded to the candles. “You made it easy for me. Just had to follow the lights.”


End file.
